


You must be at least level 10 to unlock my tragic backstory

by d0g-bless (d0gbless)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Craig Cahn (Dream Daddy), F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Florida, Gift Fic, M/M, SHIDGE, Setting is based on Ringling College of Art & Design, Video & Computer Games, dating sims, dream daddy - Freeform, otome games, with a side of klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0gbless/pseuds/d0g-bless
Summary: AU. For most of her life, Katie "Pidge" Holt has struggled with people. Thanks to her brother getting her into dating sims and otome games, interacting with people has become less of a struggle.But now that she's in her first year at Altea Art Institute, an art school with one of the top game design programs, she's learning that people are more complex than otome game characters. And while people have been a challenge, they've never been as difficult to understand as Shiro, the TA she's partnered with for a semester-long group project.(ShiroPidge with a hint of Klance.)





	You must be at least level 10 to unlock my tragic backstory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [battleshidge (Amiria_Raven)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiria_Raven/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Battleshidge! I've been working on your present, and here it is, that art school AU you requested months ago, ready for your enjoyment. I hope you like it. <3

_ Thomas Edison said that genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration. But this? This is ridiculous. _ Pidge mopped the sweat beading on her forehead with the back of her hand. Some genius she was, choosing to attend art school in Florida. Fucking. Florida. The sweaty, smelly armpit of the United States. But it wasn’t like she’d chosen to attend this school for the weather. Or for sheets that glued to her body in the morning.

It was for a video game program—the best in the nation—at a prestigious art school. And she wouldn’t have gone here if it weren’t for her brother.

It wasn’t that Matt had gone to the Altea Art Institute. He hadn’t.

It wasn’t that he lived close by. He didn’t.

It wasn’t that he’d told her to go here. Again, he hadn’t.

The reason she ended up here, living in a single dorm much to her parents’ concerns, was because Matt got her into video games.

Growing up, Pidge didn’t get people. They were difficult to read for some reason or another, which made being social difficult for her as a child. (Admittedly, even now it was hard.) Her parents were always trying to push her into the great outdoors, even with her sensitivity to the sun and allergies and asthma. “Go play with the kid next door,” her mother would tell her.

Instead of playing with the kid next door, Pidge merely went up into her room and worked on repairing the VCR she’d pulled apart just to see how it worked. She found friends in robots, the cute little Aibo dog she’d saved up for years only for its batteries to fail. Apparently even a robot dog had a lifespan.

She could talk for hours on end about her robots and various projects and experiments, but was practically mute about anything else. Her father didn’t worry about her too much; in fact, Samuel Holt encouraged her discussions. As one of the top brass at NASA, he reveled in the fact at least one of his children shared his passion for robotics and engineering and technology.

Matt had also been interested, but not nearly to the depth that his little sister was. He, too, was a concern for his parents, though it wasn’t necessarily for the lack of a social life. Unlike his sister, he at least tried to get out there and make friends, even though other kids called him a faggot, twink, and fairy at school.

“Aren’t fairies supposed to have wings?” she’d asked after seeing the word scrawled in red permanent marker on his assignment notebook. “And they can’t tell lies. Oh, and in  _ Peter Pan _ , if someone said, ‘I don’t believe in fairies,’ the fairy would die. I don’t believe in fairies. Look, you’re still here. You’re not a fairy.”

Matt laughed. “Oh, Katie. Or should I call you ‘Pidge’ like Tramp does in your favorite movie? You’re like Lady, innocent to the ways of the outside world, on the other side of the tracks.”

“Am not!” Despite her protests, the nickname stuck, and she’d held on to it like it was a priceless gem.

“Hey, Pidge, want to play a video game with me?”

“With one controller?”

“It won’t be a problem.” He’d handed her the game’s case. “Which guy do you think we should go for?”

“Go for?”

“Tell you what, let’s do one playthrough and see what happens.”

It was through dating sims—usually  _ otome _ games—that Pidge eventually realized why kids bullied her brother. “I don’t get why you like these games. They’re stupid.”

Matt had gasped at her blasphemous comment. “Stupid? Pidge, these games are  _ amazing. _ ”

“But nothing happens! All you do is talk to these guys until one of them starts liking you or something. There’s no adventure, no excitement.”

He’d clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Maybe so. But you know, these games are a good way to learn how to deal with people. You get a feel for their personalities and learn these character’s interests. Sometimes it’s a challenge. Not everyone opens up to you right away, and that’s how people are. I mean, you don’t make-out with a person when you first meet them.”

“Or pigeons.”

“Watch your mouth, sis. There was also a mourning dove, a budgie, and a finch. Not everybirdie in that game is a pigeon.” Matt scooted over and patted the space next to him. “Come on, Katie, it’ll be fun.”

She was loath to admit it, but Matt had been right. And it was because of him and  _ otome _ games that she finally felt confident enough in dealing with people. Confident enough to leave home to learn how to create her own video games.

So here she was, sweat dripping from all her pores in fucking Florida all because her brother got her hooked on games— _ otome _ games, of all things! And now she wanted to make said games.

Her phone buzzed.

**Matt:** Get out of bed and go to class, Pidgeon. Have a great first day of college. Oh, and keep an eye open on your Steam account because I’m sending you a little “congrats you survived day 1 at school” gift. I found this fucking amazing game, and it has exceeded all my expectations. And you have to promise me you won’t look up any guides or watch playthroughs. No cheating!

She replied with a thumbs up emoji.  _ Thanks, Matt. _

* * *

There had been more than one factor in Pidge selecting to attend the Altea Art Institute. AAI, as everyone called it, had small class sizes and a fairly small campus. (She’d played too many a game with large maps and found it easy to get lost.) That being said, she had no problem finding Alfor Hall, where most of the video game classes were held.

The problem, if any, was finding the room her first class was held. Most buildings room numbers made sense. The first-floor rooms of most places were in the 100 range, second in 200 range, so on and so forth. But Alfor Hall’s first floor rooms began at 200, and her classroom was 098.

“You looking for Room 098?”

Pidge squeaked like a mouse at the voice behind her. The tone was a bit too suggestive for her comfort, reminding her a bit too much of Joey’s infamous—if not iconic—“How you doin’?” line from  _ Friends. _ She turned around, finding herself face to face with a navy soccer jersey emblazoned with the word “CUBA” in white caps. “Y-yes!” Pidge looked at the giant with wide eyes. “You know where it is? I-I’m Pidge!”

“The name’s Lance. 098 happens to be downstairs, and I’m actually headed there, too.” Lance eyed Pidge from head to toe. “I haven’t seen you before. You a freshman?”

Pidge hoped Lance didn’t hear her take a deep breath as she tried to calm herself into figuring out a response. Okay, so… if this were a dating sim—not that she had any inkling of interest in Lance like that—how would Lance react? He seemed to know she was lost, so maybe it was best to be honest. And lying on the first meeting made for a poor first impression. “Yeah. I’m a first-year, and a little lost.”

“Well, don’t worry about getting lost. I’ll go with you. Man, you’re in Iverson’s class?” Lance whistled. “How’d you manage to get your way into an upper-level class with a hard ass like him?”

“I tested out of the entry-level class.”

Lance shook his head. Iverson would eat this poor little lamb for dinner. “And so you decided to take this class instead?”

Pidge nodded. “An interdisciplinary game art class sounded interesting.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder. “So where’s this room located? I don’t want to be late.”

“We already are. According to Iverson’s clock, we’re five minutes late.”

The color drained from Pidge’s face. “What?”

“Oh, right. You haven’t had a class with him before. He starts five minutes early. But since it’s the first day of classes and all, he can’t ban you from the class. Though he’ll try to give you the boot. Ouch!”

Pidge tugged at Lance’s arm in an attempt to drag him toward the stairwell.

“Wrong one, Pidgey.” He pointed to the opposite end of the hall with his free arm. “098 can only be accessed from the stairs waaaaaaaaaaay over there—woah!” Lance stumbled as Pidge changed direction with her vice-like grip on his arm. How could someone so tiny be strong enough to pull him after her? “Slow down! There’s no need to run. Do you  _ want _ to look like a freshman?”

“I am one, and we’re late!”

* * *

Lance hadn’t been kidding about Professor Iverson being a hard ass.

The man stood at an intimidating height and carried himself like a general. He very well could have been one for all Pidge knew. He referred to his students by last name or “cadet.” One of his withering looks—like the one she and Lance earned as they entered the classroom—froze students in place.

Pidge thought of him as Medusa, even with one good eye—assuming Iverson’s left eye wasn’t eternally sealed shut. If only she carried a shield like Perseus had.

“You’re late.”

Pidge wilted. “I’m sor—“

“Stow it, cadets. Take a seat. I expect better from all of you, especially you, Cadet McClain.”

“Yessir.” Lance gave a quick salute before fleeing to a seat in the back row. He patted the available spot next to him. A kind invitation, but the straight-A student in Pidge lured her into a desk in the front row.

“Very brave of you to take front row, Cadet…?” Iverson trailed off, hinting for his new student to introduce herself.

“Oh, right.” Pidge laughed nervously. “I’m Katie Holt, but I prefer to go by Pidge.”

“As I was saying, Cadet Holt,” Iverson continued, emphasizing Pidge’s surname. “You are brave to sit in the front, especially when you are late. Since this is our first class, and you have arrived late, I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Her jaw dropped. Leave? She wasn’t even late!  _ Wait. Lance said he’d try to kick me out. _ “Professor, I am on time. Early, in fact. You started class early without sending an email to update students. According to the student handbook, I have done nothing wrong.”

“Good. Very good.” The muscles in Iverson’s face twitched as his lips twisted into a contorted smile. Calling the expression a smile would be too kind, as it fell somewhere between a smirk and a snarl. “From here on out, you will arrive earlier unless I instruct otherwise.”

Pidge stiffened her body so not to cringe at her teacher’s grotesque grin. “Y-yes, sir.”

Iverson reached for something on his desk—a clipboard. Calloused knuckles rapped on it three times before he started taking roll. Aside from Lance, Pidge knew one person in this class: Allura, who was her RA. To be fair, Pidge didn’t know her all that well since she’d skipped most orientation day sessions to do her own thing. She was a foreign exchange student, but Pidge could not place her accent. English? Australian? Welsh? For all Pidge knew, her RA was from another planet.

“Now that we’re all here, we can get started with today’s class.” Iverson removed a few papers from his clipboard and handed them to Pidge. “This is the only syllabus you will receive in my Interdisciplinary Game Art course. If you lose it, that’s too bad.”

Pidge took a sheet and handed it back to the student with a red jacket and long black hair—Keith?—who then handed it off to Allura, so on and so forth, until it made its way to Lance in the back row.

“Excuse me?” A nervous laugh followed the question. “I-I hate to be that person, Professor Iverson, but why is the syllabus blank except for the dates?”

“Cadet Tamatoa, is it?”

“It’s Hunk.” The big guy shrank back into his seat. “But you know what, Cadet Tamatoa is perfect. Just perfect. In fact, I love it, nothing better than—“ Hunk’s rambling ceased the moment Iverson raised a hand.

“That, Tamatoa, is because this class does not have homework assignments. Before you all get too excited,” Iverson paused to cast Lance a cold stare. “You will have a semester-long project. Each of you will be assigned a partner next class. With that partner, you will create something.” He waved his hand. “No more questions. Class dismissed.”

* * *

“I must say, Pidge, I did  _ not _ like that professor’s attitude,” Allura said. “Who does he think he is, some sort of dictator?”

_ Who do you think you are, my best friend? _ Pidge thought with a grimace. Why couldn’t she walk back to her dorm by herself? Oh, right. Because Allura was her RA and probably headed the same way. Duh.

“I’m with the princess on that one.” Lance winked at Allura. “Long time no see, gorgeous. I cannot wait to work with you tomorrow as your  _ partner. _ ”

Pidge cocked her head. “Wait, you two know each other?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Allura rolled her eyes. “Lance,  _ please _ do stop calling me that. I am a student like you who also happens to have absolutely no interest in dating you.”

Lance clutched a hand to his chest. “I have been morally wounded by her highness’ venomous words, like a poisoned dagger thrust into my heart.”

“That’s  _ mortally _ wounded,” Allura grumbled. “Save the theatrics for your theatre major, please.”

Theatre? “What’s a theatre major doing in a game art class?”

“That’s a theatre and game art double major to you, Pidgey.” Lance poked her nose with his index finger.

Pidge wrinkled her nose. “Those two things seem very different.”

“Ah, but if I ever want to be the hero of my own game, I need to be a pretty damn good actor.”

“Like a voice actor then?”

Lance’s head bobbed up and down. “Exactly.”

“I, too, am majoring in game art—which is how I know Lance—but I am also in the process of studying motion design. You know some of those commercials that have things like spinning bottles of pop? Or wriggly text? Motion designers help with that. If things move too quickly on screen, it can make people motion sick.”

“Speaking of motion sickness, we should go find Hunk and grab some grub.”

Pidge was lost. What did motion sickness have to do with Hunk and food?

“I don’t think so.” Allura folded her arms across her chest. “The last time we ate together, just the two of us, you called it a date and told  _ everyone _ about it.”

“Why do you think I said we should find Hunk?” Lance protested. “Besides, with Pidge, it’s more than three’s a crowd. That’s four people. Come on, what do you say?”

Allura hummed in thought. “I say that Pidge should decide what to do.”

“Who, me?” Pidge looked back and forth between Allura and Lance. “I can’t. I already have plans.”

A defeated Lance pouted. “Aw, come on, Pidge. Please?”

“It would be an absolute delight for you to join us for dinner,” Allura said. “And it would be lovely to have another girl along in a testosterone-infused group dinners.” She batted her eyes, pleading for Pidge to eat with her and the others.

Oh, no. They were using that puppy-dog eyed look. The one that makes it even harder to say no. _Katie, if this were a dating sim, what would your options be?_ _Accept, decline, or compromise. I already declined, but maybe I should do so with a bit more emphasis. No, I’ll compromise._ “How about another night?”

“Yes!” Lance looped one arm around Pidge and the other around Allura. “Looking forward to it, ladies.”

The young women shrugged Lance off their shoulders and made their way back to their dorm.

* * *

Pidge’s dorm, Narti, was the only all-girls’ dorm on campus. It had its perks: it smelled far better than any of the men’s living dorms or floors. No amount of Axe deodorant could improve the manly stench. If anything, running down the halls spraying said deodorant only made the scent worse.

Another perk? Her single. No need to deal with a roommate bitching about Pidge’s less-than-pristine habits or touching her equipment.

If there was one thing Pidge despised about her living situation, it was the fact she lived on the highest floor, which required her to walk up four flights of stairs. Four. Fucking. Flights. Narti was also the oldest dorm, which meant it lacked certain amenities, such as an elevator.

Pidge peered at Allura, who wasn’t breaking a sweat or gasping for air. Her RA could probably crush a man’s head in-between her muscular thighs.

“Are you alright, Pidge? You’re walking funny.”

“I’m fine,” Pidge said through gritted teeth as she wobbled to her door. “Just tired, that’s all.” Before Allura could pester her any further, Pidge unlocked her door and slammed it behind her.

Free! She was free for the rest of the evening. The perfect time for a hot date.

“Rover, I’m home!” Of course, her computer couldn’t respond with a “hello” or anything of the sort. Her fingers sped across the keyboard, which clicked and clacked furiously.

The Steam icon greeted her with a few bounces. Pidge double-clicked the application. It opened immediately. Pidge checked for updates and sales. No updates available. None of her wishlisted games were on sale. And… ah-ha! There was the game Matt had gifted her, ready for download. In a few minutes, she’d be ready to go.

“What?” Pidge’s jaw dropped. “Two hours? What do you mean the download’s going to take two hours? Come on, Rover, you can do this!”

Rover could not do this.

And neither could Pidge. There was no way in hell she was going to wait two hours to play a storyline she could probably beat in that amount of time.

Thank God she’d packed her own router. Technically, Altea Art Institute’s policy did not allow students to have their own personal Wi-Fi. But why would that stop her — or the person who set up the password-protected Wi-Fi labeled “AAI-can-eat-my-ass”?

What Altea Art Institute didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt them.

* * *

Once Pidge finished setting up her Wi-Fi and connected Rover to it, the game’s download time dropped to five minutes. That Pidge could work with. It was less than ideal, but at least it wasn’t two hours.

Rover notified Pidge by starting up the game. A soft pop tune crooned from the speakers: “ _ Dre-e-e-e-am daddy _ ” on repeat.

_ Dream Daddy _ ?  _ This _ was the game Matt bought for her? Pidge scoffed. This would be easy. She could already tell everything she needed to know about the datable characters. The redheaded bear with the gut probably was a foodie; Goldie-locks with the pink jacket draped over his shoulder had to be snobby rich guy who was impossible for people to like and was therefore a snooty bachelor. Why even bother with this game?

So far, Pidge didn’t get the appeal.

Until she met  _ him _ . The athletic man with the Adidas tattoo. No, wait, that was an eyebrow. Whatever. Didn’t matter. “Craig.” She crinkled her nose at the name. “The best-looking guy in the game is named Craig? That’s just unfortunate.”

For now, she’d overlook his name. Craig wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, so he should be easy to win over.

* * *

Correction: Craig was impossible to win over. She always tried to do things Craig would obviously be into, but it backfired. Pidge slammed her hand against her desk. “This guy is a jock. He shouldn’t be this hard to understand! All you should want is exercise and to get laid. Now let me get laid!”

Pidge checked the clock. It was nearing one o’clock in the morning, and she hadn’t made much progress with Craig. She glared at him. “I  _ will _ steal your heart. Not today, but another day.”

* * *

Shiro gathered up his things and as much courage as he could muster. His broad chest rose and fell with a deep breath.  _ It’ll be okay, _ he told himself.  _ It’ll be okay. _

“Hey, Shiro, let me help you with that.” Keith reached for the box his roommate carried, but Shiro sidestepped and set it down in the dorm. “Or not.”

Shiro started unpacking the cardboard box that held his belongings. Sheets and blankets, photos and posters, and silence filled his side of the room.

Keith frowned. This was not his best friend. This was someone else completely. Keith knew tragedies changed people, but he’d never expected Shiro to be one of those people. Then again, Shiro hadn’t expected to be in a car accident that took his parents and arm from him. Along with the arm, he also lost his good hand, the same he animated and drew with. In place of his arm was a detailed prosthetic. Keith hadn’t seen many prosthetics in his life, but he’d never heard of one like this. It was detailed, and although Keith didn’t dare say it aloud, it made Shiro look like a cyborg. Half man, half robot.

“You’re not going to ask me about it, are you?” Shiro flexed the prosthetic arm. Gears whirred and wires groaned through the motion.

“No.”

“You were staring at it.”

“Doesn’t mean I was going to ask. You sure you don’t need help with anything? I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine,” Shiro said through gritted teeth. Was everyone going to be like this? Would everyone treat him like he was some fragile creature? God forbid the animation professor give him lighter work simply because he couldn’t draw the same thing over and over again. Sure, this prosthetic was better than any of the other options when it came to the ability to hold a pen or stylus, but it didn’t mean he would retain any of his drawing ability in full.

“Well, if you don’t need anything, do you want me to grab lunch to-go?”

“No.” A growl from Shiro’s innards betrayed his response. He sighed. “On second thought, that sounds good. Could you get me a gyro from the Greek station?”

Keith smiled a little bit. Even though Shiro had changed over the summer, his first option for cafeteria food hadn’t. “Sure thing. Should I bring it back here?”

Shiro considered it for a moment. “Actually, I’m supposed to go to Alfor Hall to talk to Iverson since I missed the first day of classes.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re his teaching assistant this year, aren’t you? You’re lucky you’re not one of his actual students.”

Shiro managed to return Keith’s smile with one of his own. “Yeah. I couldn’t go to classes yesterday because I had to get this ugly thing—” he tapped his prosthetic. “—recalibrated and readjusted.”

“I was wondering where you were at yesterday. You should’ve texted me or something.”

“I know, I know.” Shiro blew his white forelock away from his eyes. “I just don’t want to talk about all this stuff yet. Or maybe ever.” He reached for the black hoodie he’d hung in the closet mere seconds ago and slipped it over his head.

“Shiro, it’s like 90-something degrees out there. You’re going to die of heatstroke.”

Shiro gave a half-assed shrug. Better to die of heatstroke than to deal with people staring at his hideous new limb.

* * *

Keith believed that Iverson was an alien. Or a cryptid.

Whenever Shiro entered Iverson’s office, he remembered why Keith believed that. The man’s office was empty, with the exception of his desk, desktop computer, and two chairs. Where most professors had posters on the wall and photos of loved ones on desks or bouncing on the computer as a screensaver, Iverson had none of these things. No ornaments or knick knacks. Even his desktop was blank, decorated with the standard teal blue of older Windows systems and program shortcuts.

“Iverson, sir?”

Iverson’s chair spun around in a way reminiscent of a villain. All Iverson needed was a cat or some other furry animal to stroke while he talked. “Ah, Cadet—no, Lieutenant Shirogane. I received your electronic mail message the other day. Thank you for the warning.”

“Of course, sir. I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. I’m well aware of your situation. My condolences, Takashi. Should you need to drop from being my teaching assistant, please inform me as soon as possible.”

Shiro clenched his hands into fists. Did everyone think he was helpless? Incapable? He’d expected pity from Keith, but not from Iverson. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Good. If you need anything, please speak to me so that we can make arrangements as needed.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, please call me Shiro.”

Iverson huffed. “I make no guarantees that I’ll remember to call you that.”

“In that case, Lieutenant Shirogane will do just fine, sir.” Shiro forced a smile and a “thank you,” then left Iverson’s office.

_ Patience yields focus, patience yields focus. _ He repeated this mantra again and again. Shiro heaved a sigh. He had patience, more than most, but even he had his limits. And when he was on edge, there was one thing that helped him stay grounded.

Directly across from Iverson’s office was an art studio room, filled with a variety of supplies: paper, pencils, ink, and a few computers and tablets. It was free for the taking—with the exception of the computers and tablets, of course.

Shiro wriggled his mechanical fingers. He still had phantom pains, but there was also a phantom itch to get back to drawing. Would he be able to draw like he used to? Even with the hours upon hours he’d spent in physical therapy over the summer, he still wasn’t sure if the dexterity was still there.

People told him drawing was like riding a bike. Once you learned how, you couldn’t forget. Maybe that was true, but people didn’t take into account the fact that most people who ride bikes aren’t usually amputees. Sure, you couldn’t forget  _ how _ to do it, but you simply might not be able to do it. An amputee would have to re-learn the process, often in a different way.

Still, if Shiro wanted to become an animator, he’d have to work through this. He entered the room, which was occupied by a lanky Latino kid. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Nope. Just memorizing and practicing lines for play auditions. It’s all good.”

Shiro could handle a little background noise. Maybe he needed a little distraction. He looked around the room for art supplies. He found pens and pencils in a cup, but no paper. Provided this place hadn’t changed much from last year, rolls of paper were stored in cupboards. Shiro knelt in front of one and opened the door.

Golden eyes squinted at him, then widened in recognition. “Craig?”

Shiro did a double take. There was a girl hiding in the cupboard. No paper where it should’ve been, but a girl. That wasn’t odd or anything. Not at all.

Shiro stood up to his full height and dug out paper from another cupboard.  _ Maybe I should go and check on her. See if she’s okay. _ He returned to the first cupboard, only to find it empty. “Hey, was there a girl in here?”

No answer. The girl and the other guy had vanished.

Great. Not only did he lose his family and arm in the accident, but his mind, too.

He shook his head, as if for some reason it would rid his mind of her hypnotic eyes. Nope. Didn’t work.

Instead, Shiro sat down and began drawing her from memory. Short brown hair. Freckles. Golden eyes. Glasses. Knobby scraped knees.

* * *

If she was lucky enough, Pidge would never have to see that guy again. She swore that was the last time she’d help Lance or anyone else re-enact a scene from a play, especially if it involved jumping out of cupboards. Or hiding in one.

Why did she even bother to help Lance? They weren’t friends. It just so happened she bumped into him after her last class, and he begged for someone to help practice lines with. Against her better judgment, she’d said yes. She’d figured all he needed was someone to read lines that weren’t his, but no. Lance needed her to actually act, which involved hiding in a cupboard until he read off a certain line.

Thank God she took the front row seat in Iverson’s class. No need to worry about Lance asking her for help again that way. Well, at least during class.

“After much consideration and deliberation, I have determined partners for this semester. There will be no switching partners. Whoever I give you will be the person you work with the entire semester.” He handed each student a slip of paper with a name and contact information.

Pidge looked down at hers.

Takashi Shirogane.

She then looked around the room. “Excuse me, professor?”

“What is the problem, Cadet Holt?”

“There’s no Takashi Shirogane in this class.”

Before Iverson could open his mouth, someone burst through the door. “Sorry I’m late. Had to work on a couple of things.”

Pidge’s stomach felt as it if were in knots. It was the guy from the day before. The one who was the  _ Dream Daddy _ doppelgänger of Craig. The same one whom she’d humiliated herself in front of by hiding in a cupboard.  _ Please, please,  _ **_please_ ** _ don’t tell me he’s my partner. _

Iverson cleared his throat. “This is my TA, Takashi Shirogane. Since you, Cadet Holt, are a first-year, I thought that it would be best to pair you with someone who has more experience.”

“But—“

“As I said,  _ Holt _ , there will be  _ no _ switching partners. From this moment on, the rest of the semester is up to you. Get to work.”

Craig— _ no,  _ **_Takashi_ ** , she reminded herself—took the empty seat to her left. Shiro had gone through the student roster for this class and had been relieved that there had been only a handful of students. It was easier to learn everyone’s names in a tiny class like this one. As for Iverson’s lectures of over 75 students, not so much. There was one person with the last name Holt, so he knew he was talking to Katie Holt. “Tell me a little about yourself, Katie. Major, hometown, all those things I’m sure you’re sick of being asked by now. And maybe a fun fact?”

“It’s Pidge.”

Shiro cocked his head. “Sorry?”

“My name. It’s Pidge. I guess Iverson didn’t correct it after role.”

_ Note to self: Tell Iverson to write students’ names and pronouns, not just the information that we’re given. _ “I’ll remind him to do that.”

“It’s not a big deal, I mean, he calls me Cadet Holt. I’d rather not make a big fuss about this whole thing, Takashi.”

He flinched at the use of his first name. “Shiro. Call me Shiro. That’s what my parents call…” Shiro’s voice trembled at the memories of his mother calling him for dinner, on the phone, greeting him with a hug, of every time she called him that. His father’s stern warning of when Takashi had gone too far with a joke or congratulated him on his work.  _ Takashi. Takashi. Takashi. _

And he’d never hear them again.

“Called me.”

The _otome_ gamer in Pidge told her that she’d unlocked a new character route. One that involves some sort of tragic backstory.

She thought about her game options: Ask him what had happened, change the subject, talk about her own experiences, or console him. Given the way Shiro’s voice trembled and his physical reaction, asking him for more details was out of the question. Changing the subject would be uncomfortable on her end, but maybe less for Shiro. Talking about her own namesake might be rude. Consoling him might be the best option of them all, but how? She’d just met the guy for the second time.

She settled on repeating his name and following his instructions. “Okay, Shiro, I’m a freshman majoring in game design from Sandusky, Ohio. Fun fact, um, my dad works at the Glenn Space Center, and my mom’s a physical therapist.”

“I guess it’s my turn. I’m a junior from San Francisco majoring in traditional animation and game design. I interned at Walt Disney’s animation studios over the summer.” He flashed a smile, so different than his blank expression from earlier. “It’s nice to meet you, Pidge.”

* * *

A fist slammed down on the cafeteria table. Hunk wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Ugh, Lance, you don’t even know what the last person sitting here ate.” He shook his head sadly. “That kid might have died. Gosh, you’d think an art school would at least hire some culinary students or actually decent cooks and bakers.”

“I cannot  _ fucking  _ believe I got paired up with mullet man!” Lance’s outburst caught the attention of a few chattering students. After a few seconds, these students went back to minding their own business, chirping and chatting away.

If this were a dating sim, Pidge would probably want to understand more about this situation. The history of Lance and Keith. Couldn’t hurt to ask. “What’s wrong with Keith?” Pidge asked. “He seems like a nice guy.” Though she hadn’t exchanged a single word with the guy, she did appreciate his silence. Maybe that didn’t make him nice per se, but still.

“Oh, boy, here we go.”

Lance glared at Hunk. “That ‘nice guy’ is so full of himself just because he won a contest for game design. It wasn’t even that good of a game.”

“Says the guy whose entry was a game called  _ Gotta Nail ‘Em All _ . You also cited one of its best features as ‘having a harem of hot girls.’” Allura sipped her cup of Earl Grey. “I’m amazed you even placed, let alone took second place.” She set the tea down on a tray and shook her head. “The sexism in the gaming industry is simply unbelievable.”

Sensing an argument on the horizon, Pidge turned to Hunk. She studied his features closely. Chubby face. Pot belly. Sausages for fingers. He should be easy enough to start a conversation with. “Hunk, as someone who clearly loves food, what would you suggest I eat?”

Hunk’s expression darkened. “ _ Clearly _ loves food? Listen, I know I am fat—“ Pidge winced as he spat out the word. “Yes, fat. I said it. But you know what? I’m more than just a fat guy who loves food.”

It didn’t make any sense. Talking about girls and joking with Lance worked just fine in terms of keeping up a conversation. And as for Hunk? It was obvious he loved to eat. Why couldn’t he just have a conversation with her about food? What else did Hunk even like or care about? “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I should get going.”  _ Before I upset anyone else. _

Hunk huffed. “It’s fine, whatever. I just get tired of people looking at me and making that assumption. And I recommend the pizza station.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” Lance grabbed Pidge’s shoulder. “Aren’t you coming to the party tonight?”

“Party?”

* * *

“This isn’t half bad, Shiro.” Keith appraised Shiro’s inky sketch of Pidge huddled up in a tiny space. What was her name? Keith frowned in recollection. Wren? Robin? “You must’ve been practicing a lot.”

“Yeah.” Shiro’s answer was far from the truth. Pencils and pens didn’t feel quite right in his hand yet. Not surprising since he hadn’t attempted to draw anything after the accident.

Until today.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept working on this drawing of her, she’d get out of his mind and stay on the paper.

“I heard there’s a party at Kolivan’s place tonight, and I thought—“

Shiro didn’t miss a beat. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Shiro, it’ll be fun.”

“Keith, you and I both know you are on probation. If you’re caught getting drunk or high or whatever it is you do, you’ll get the boot.”

Keith nodded. “Which is why you’d be coming with me. To keep me from getting in trouble.”

If only Keith and trouble didn’t go hand-in-hand like chocolate and peanut butter. The two were inseparable and worked too well together. “Keith, I can’t babysit you forever. What’ll happen when I graduate next year?”

“Nothing. Because you’ll keep me out of trouble this year and the next, and I’ll be good by the time you’re gone. I promise.”

Shiro sighed. “Fine. But you’d better stick to that promise. If you don’t, I will start calling AA to make sure you’re actually attending meetings. Please do not make me do that _. _ ”

“I swear I won’t.”

* * *

According to Lance, Kolivan had hosted a party at his house to celebrate the end of the first week of classes. And every weekend after that. But this party was  _ the _ party to attend. When Pidge asked him why, Lance shrugged and said he couldn’t remember.

Now that she was here, at her first college party, she understood why Lance couldn’t remember a thing. Apparently downing a double-digit number of shots had that effect. Lance pleaded for her to keep count because he had to beat Keith’s record. After counting Lance’s eleventh shot, Pidge decided to call it quits and went on to explore the place.

Young, sweaty bodies danced to and fro, grinding up against one another. People yelled over a blasting stereo. At least thirty underage underclassmen crowded around a punch bowl like animals at a watering hole.

The floor was sticky—with what, Pidge did not want to find out. Whatever it was, it almost made her lose a sneaker. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  _ I am at the part of a game where the guy asks me to go to a party with him. _ The corners of her mouth turned up into a smirk.  _ Lance was not who I had in mind, though. _

Hot, boozy breath panted into her ear. “Hey, cutie. Haven’t seen you here before.”

Pidge’s eyes shot open wide, startled by the stranger’s approach. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. He licked his thin lips like he was about to rip apart a raw steak.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce yourself, cutie? Come on, now, don’t be rude.”

“Pidge,” she blurted out.

The man cackled. “Like a pigeon? That’s a funny name.”

“No, it’s from a movie.  _ Lady and the Tramp. _ ”

“Never seen it. Well, Pidge, how about you tell me more about that movie upstairs? There’s a nice cozy spot, perfect for getting to know each other. How about I show you where it is?”

She swallowed hard. That was the last thing she wanted to do with this guy. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Ah, Sendak, I see you’ve met Pidge.”

Sendak whirled around at the source of the voice. “Who invited you here, Shiro?” he snarled.

“My roommate. The guy who holds the record for the highest number of shots at Kolivan’s party. It seems I’ve lost track of him.” Shiro looked over to Pidge. “You haven’t seen Keith, have you?”

After completely humiliating herself in front of him, the last thing Pidge expected to feel around Shiro was relief. And yet, that was all she could feel. “I haven’t.” It was neither the truth nor a lie.

“Well, if you’re not too busy chatting with Sendak, I might need some help tracking Keith down. Think you could help?”

“Not busy at all,” Pidge said. “Count me in.”

Sendak shot Shiro a venomous glare as he walked off with Pidge. He swore to himself, one of these days, he was going to get back at that bastard.

When they were out of Sendak’s hearing range, Shiro spoke quietly, voice taut with concern. “Are you alright?”

Pidge nodded. “Yeah, just a little shaken up.”

“Good.”  _ Good?  _ Shiro kicked himself mentally.  _ That wasn’t good! _ “I didn’t mean it’s good that you’re shaken up, but—“

“I know what you meant.” At this point in a game, the heroine would have at least thanked him with some sort of gesture, like holding his hand or going in for a kiss. But she didn’t know enough about Shiro for the latter. Instead, Pidge reached for Shiro’s hand, but he pulled away.

Shiro tugged at his hoodie’s long sleeve. The lighting made it difficult to see his prosthetic for what it truly was, but he wanted it out of sight. Besides, if she’d held that hand, she would have noticed it wasn’t real. Wasn’t his. “I didn’t take you for the partying type,” Shiro said.

“I’m not, but Lance is.” She scowled. “He dragged me along, insisting that I should experience this at least once. And he needed someone to count his shots. He’s aiming to beat Keith’s record. Last I checked, he was three shots away from tying.”

“And four away from dying if he’s trying to break Keith’s record.” Shiro swore under his breath. “We’ve got to find those two.”

* * *

After scouring the main areas for Keith and Lance, Pidge and Shiro stepped outside. A good place to refresh themselves with a breeze and reconsider their search strategy.

Pidge’s throat had gone dry from yelling for Lance and Keith and talking to Shiro. More accurately, shouting at the top of her lungs to keep up their conversation. It almost hurt to talk. “I need a drink.”

Shiro arched a brow.

“Water,” she said. “I know, it’s weird. A college student who doesn’t drink.”

At that, Shiro relaxed a little. “You’re not the only one. I don’t drink, either. I don’t really like parties all that much.”

Questions ran through Pidge’s mind. This guy who looked like the typical frat boy and  _ Dream Daddy _ ’s “keg-stand Craig” didn’t drink? It didn’t make any sense. Nothing about this man did. “Then why are you here?”

“To keep an eye on Keith.”

Keith? The guy who barely spoke in Iverson’s class? “He never struck me as someone who would go to one of these things. I figured he’d find a corner to brood in and silently judge people.”

“He’s rarely the life of the party,” Shiro said. “He doesn’t care about being front and center. Not to the degree your boyfriend does. Keith just likes to drink. Says it helps him unwind.”

Color drained from Pidge’s face. “Lance? He is not my boyfriend. He’s hardly even a friend.” Maybe that wasn’t exactly true. Lance and her classmates were growing on her like mold on cheese. “Well, maybe we’re sort of friends? Acquaintances at best. But trust me, he’s  _ not _ my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Relief flooded over him. Why it did, he couldn’t say. Shiro welcomed the feeling and let it soothe the anxiety brewing in the pit of his stomach. “I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

“It’s fine.” She leaned against a window and stared up into the night sky. She could make out a couple of stars. That was one thing she missed from back home. Seeing hundreds of constellations for miles on end, relatively free of light pollution. “Where do you think Lance and Keith are at? They weren’t anywhere in the main areas. And I doubt they were able to go downstairs.”

“That leaves one place.”

_ Upstairs. A bedroom.  _ “There’s no way Lance would ever do  _ that  _ with Keith! He hates him.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous. But just think about it. We’ve looked everywhere else we were able to look.”

What Shiro said made sense. “If they’re doing what you think they’re doing, should we interrupt them? I don’t know if Lance would be able to consent to anything after downing at least eleven shots.”

“Keith promised me he’d stay out of trouble.”

Right on cue, Keith and Lance stumbled out the door, leaning on one another for stability. “Sheero, we gotta go,” Keith slurred. “‘eard cop cars comin’. Be ‘ere any shecount now. Start th’ car! Gotta go now!”

Neither Pidge nor Shiro had the heart to tell Keith the sirens he and Lance had heard were part of a song’s sound effects. Or ask why Lance wore Keith’s jacket. Or ask about the small bruises and bitemarks trailing Keith’s collarbone.

Shiro looked to Pidge. “Do you want a ride back to your dorm?”

Pidge nodded. It sounded better than walking alone in the dark.

Shiro helped the disheveled pair into the back seat of his car. Keith protested this: “Sheero, ‘ow come sheez in th’ front? Robin stole m’spot.”

“That is because  _ Pidge _ is sober and didn’t break her promise like someone else did.”

Keith’s jaw dropped. “I waz good, ask ‘im.”

“Oh, yes, good.  _ Very _ good.” Lance ran a hand through Keith’s hair. “‘s Soft. Like our bed. ‘cept it wasn’t our bed. Was Koliv, olive…”

“Kolivan’s bed,” Shiro finished.

Lance nodded vigorously. “Yeah, Kolivan’s bed.”

“Nice bed for kissing.” Keith yawned. “Lance kisses real good.” He wrinkled his nose. “Better wit’out bad breath.”

Pidge clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. Her giggles found their way to Lance’s ears. The lanky flirt pleaded with her. If he hadn’t been buckled in, Pidge was certain he would’ve been on the ground groveling. “Pidgey, don’ tell Hunk or ‘lura ‘bout this.  _ Please. _ ”

“I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

“Swear on your droom key?”

Droom key? Droom key? What is a droom key? A donkey? Her ass? “Lance, what are you talking about?”

Lance groaned. “Do’rom key!”

Oh, dorm room key. “Okay, I get it. One second.” Pidge didn’t know why that meant any more to Lance than her word, but she agreed. She dug through her shorts’ pockets, but they were empty. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asked.

“I…” She swallowed hard. “I think left my key inside my dorm. I’m locked out.” Her face burned. Here she was, crying over a dorm key. She probably sounded like a little kid, and in front of Shiro, no less. “And my RA is probably sleeping right now, so I can’t ask her for help. Where am I going to stay?” Her voice wavered with anxiety. She fought back the tears pricking her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Shiro said. “I know just the place.”

* * *

After returning a wasted Lance to the dorm he shared with a worried Hunk—lucky bastards lived on the first floor—Shiro, Keith, and Pidge walked five doors down to room 120.

The Thace dorms weren’t as nice as Pidge’s single back in Narti, but she wasn’t picky. Especially since Shiro was kind enough to let her crash at his place. Shiro held the door for her and gave an extravagant gesture: “Ladies first.” He flicked the light switch so Pidge wouldn’t trip or fall over anything.

Oblivious to Shiro’s chivalry, Keith grunted and pushed past Shiro and Pidge. “Night.”

Even with the light on to guide Pidge through room 120, there wasn’t anything she would’ve tripped over. Well, maybe her own feet. But that was beside the point.

The main living area was pristine. Except for a futon, mini fridge, and an entertainment center, there was nothing on the floor. Not a crumb in sight. The walls were bare, free of posters or decorations. Pidge wondered if Keith or Shiro’s bedrooms would’ve told her more about them than the shared living room did.

As if he could read her mind, Shiro said, “It’s not much. I can take the futon if you’d prefer a bed.”

Pidge shook her head. “No, the futon looks great.” She plopped down on it. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“So, you like  _ Lady and the Tramp _ , huh?”

“What? How’d you know?”

“I, ah, heard you mention it to Sendak.” Shiro settled beside her on the futon. “And I couldn’t help but wonder ever since you told me that you go by ‘Pidge.’”

“It’s my favorite Disney movie. My brother started calling me Pidge because of it, I guess.”

“No way. It’s my favorite, too.” Shiro caught a spark of doubt in Pidge’s eyes and noticed her smile twitch downward at the corners. “No, I’m serious. It’s the reason I decided to major in traditional animation.”

Golden eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sendak had been trying to get her into bed with him. Was Shiro trying to do the same thing? Maybe he wasn’t such a nice guy after all. Maybe he’d planned this from the start. “This has been nice and all…” Pidge started, but stopped when Shiro hopped up to open the entertainment center’s cabinet.

“I have it right here on DVD. If you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind watching it. I haven’t seen it in years. It doesn’t help that Keith thinks it’s stupid, either. What do you think?”

Shiro’s excitement was real, that much Pidge could tell. “What do I think? I think Keith’s wrong, and we should watch this right now.”

* * *

Much to Pidge’s relief, Shiro had been telling the truth. He knew far more about the movie than Pidge did, but both of them were able to recite lines and time the music perfectly.

That also allowed the two of them to talk more about Pidge’s project. Shiro hadn’t heard of _otome_ games, but he was interested. “You’re telling me these games use a traditional animation style?” he asked. “You’ll have to show me some.”

“I will,” she said mid-yawn. “I promise.” Pidge’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and eventually, she succumbed to sleep.

Shiro knew sleep would be coming for him soon, but he fought it off just a little bit longer. He took a pencil and sketchbook and began to draw her, a living, breathing, beautiful still life.

By the time he’d finished his masterpiece, Shiro fell asleep next to Pidge, holding his sketchpad close to his heart.

* * *

The smell of coffee roused Pidge from her deep sleep.

A figure Pidge couldn’t quite make out stood over her. She rubbed at her eyes with a small fist and blinked owlishly to clear her vision. Once the blurriness was gone, she realized Keith stood mere inches from her face. “Ah!” Her heart pounded in her chest.

Her startled sound woke Shiro. “Wha—?” The blanket he’d draped over a sleeping Pidge and himself the night before slipped off of him.

Pidge couldn’t help but stare. At some point, he’d taken off his hoodie. In its stead, Shiro wore an undershirt… and then she saw it. One of the finest robotic prosthetic limbs she’d ever seen. Given her mother’s line of work, she’d seen quite a few prosthetics, but nothing like this one. It was artfully crafted, unlike anything she’d ever seen. It was beautiful. Like the man who donned it.

“You should probably go.” Shiro’s voice indicated this was not a request. It was a command.

“ _ Why? _ ” She wanted to ask. But she said nothing as she gathered up her things. Nothing except “I’ll see you in class, Shiro.” The door clicked behind her.

Shiro rested his head in his hands.  _ I ruined it. _ He couldn’t articulate what that “it” was, but whatever “it” was, it was over.

“Shiro?”

“What is it, Keith?”

“Next time you bring her here, give me a warning.”

Shiro laughed bitterly. “What makes you think she’d come back? And why should I warn you? It’s not going to end up with the two of us sleeping together.”

“Listen, I might make some stupid decisions, Shiro, but I am a good student,” Keith said. He took a sip of coffee. “Full-ride scholarship, in case you’d forgotten.”

“I haven’t.” It was the only reason Keith was able to afford college and one of many reasons why Shiro took it upon himself to keep his friend out of trouble. “Where are you going with this?”

Keith picked up Shiro’s sketchbook off the floor and flipped through it. It must’ve fallen when the blanket did. “You haven’t drawn anything except her sleeping and hiding in that cupboard in this.”

“You skipped over the character design I made for her project.”

Keith flipped to the design Shiro had talked about. “An elf with short hair and glasses.” Keith cast Shiro a doubtful look. “It’s Pidge. Deny it all you want, but you have feelings for her.”

“Even if I did have feelings for her—and I don’t—did you see how she stared at my arm? She thought it was weird.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Shiro, everyone will stare. I’ll admit it, I did. But I don’t anymore. And she didn’t seem disgusted by it.”

“She didn’t seem disgusted by it, huh? That is a fantastic standard to go off of,” Shiro countered. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. If someone is not disgusted at the fact I have one real arm, I should date them. Perfect.”

“This isn’t worth fighting you on, Shiro. Just warn me the next time you guys sleep together here.” Keith shuddered at the thought of walking in on his best friend. “Please.”

* * *

“Rise and shine. Come on, Lance, it’s time to get up.” Hunk tugged the blinds open. Sunlight poured into the room. Its warmth tickled Lance’s face.

Lance cracked an eye open, then shut it. “Too bright.” He rolled over to his other side and pulled his comforter over his head, which for some reason would not cover his head. After a couple rounds of failed tug-of-war, Lance forced his eyes open. Hunk’s massive hands clutched Lance’s deep blue comforter. “Why would you betray me?”

Hunk shook with laughter. “Because it’s almost noon, and I know you haven’t done any of your homework.”

“But it’s Saturday. You and I both know I save it all until Sunday.”

Hunk set a glass of water on Lance’s nightstand. “Drink up. It’ll help with that hangover.”

Lance downed the water and held out the glass to Hunk. “More.”

With a sigh and roll of his eyes, Hunk took the glass and refilled it. “Would it kill you to say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’?” he asked, passing it back to Lance. His hungover roommate downed it again.

“It just might,” Lance said. He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. His head throbbed. “I feel like a drummer is beating my skull.”

Hunk eyed the hickeys marked on Lance’s neck. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

Thoughts flickered and danced behind his steel-blue eyes. “I remember Pidge counting my shots. I almost broke Keith’s record. Or maybe I did?” His forehead puckered. “Keith was there to witness it. We talked.”

“You talked?”

“Duh.” Lance folded his arms across his chest. “You can’t get into a fight and then say nothing afterwards. Of course we talked!”

Hunk held his hands up. “Dude, no need to get so defensive.”

“Me? Defensive? Ha, that is a good one, Hunk. There is nothing to be defensive about, especially because I hate Keith, and he clearly hates me. Clearly there’s nothing going on between us.”

_ Man, Lance is the worst liar I’ve ever met.  _ Hunk cleared his throat. “Do you remember how you got home last night?”

“I…” Lance froze. He looked up at Hunk with wide eyes. “No, I don’t.”

“Keith and his roommate brought you home. And, um, speaking of Keith, he is standing outside the door with something that smells good, and he wants to see you. Says he wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

A crimson flush spread up from Lance’s neck to his face. “If it’s not too much to ask, Hunk, could he speak to me?”

“Yeah, sure thing. I’ll let him in.” Hunk started for the door, but Lance slipped out of his bed and grabbed his roommate by the shoulder before he could go any further. 

“Hold on, Hunk. I want to talk to him alone.”

“Alone? You want to talk to Keith alone?”

“Yes. That is what I said.” Lance tilted his head to the side. Had Hunk lost his hearing? “I. Want. To. Talk. To. Keith. Alone.”

“Okay, but we’re talking about Keith Kogane? The guy you hate? The one who barely has a mullet? Who lives a few doors down from us and is in that class with Iverson? The one you’re partnered with? That Keith?”

Lance ran a hand down his face. “Now that you’ve hit your paper’s word count, would you please just let  _ that _ Keith in?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hunk said as he lumbered toward the door. “Please don’t break anything, and if you guys bang it out, don’t forget to use use protection.” Hunk opened the door and let Keith in, then shut it behind him.

With a maroon beanie atop his head and a messenger bag at his side, Keith looked like a model in his black v-neck and red flannel shirt, and it pissed Lance off. Why couldn’t mullet man look as terrible as Lance felt? Life wasn’t fair.

“Um, hi.” Keith’s grip tightened on his bag’s sling. “I thought you might be really hungover after last night, so I brought you something to help with that.” He unzipped one of the bag’s compartments and dug out a tupperware container. “You’ll have to reheat it in your microwave, but it should help.” He held it out to Lance, who turned his up his nose at the offering.

“What the hell is it?”

“It’s a stew,” Keith said. “My dad taught me the recipe. He swore that it was a cure-all, but really, all it was good at curing was hangovers.”

Lance, though reluctant, took the container from Keith. “Thanks.” Lance set it down on his nightstand next to an empty glass. He sat on the edge of his bed and scooted over, making more room for a second person. Keith didn’t seem to get the message, so Lance patted the open spot.

Keith joined him. The two sat next to one another in silence. Then Keith spoke. “I’m worried about my roommate.”

“Okay, this is not where I thought this conversation was headed, but please, carry on. Consider my interest piqued.”

Keith bit back a retort about Lance’s vocabulary.  _ Wow, I can’t believe he actually used that word correctly. I didn’t think Lance even knew what ‘piqued’ means. _ Instead, he cast Lance an icy glare before continuing. “He had a… rough summer, to put it simply.”  _ Very simply. _ “He isn’t the same person he was before. And late last night, I heard the old Shiro return.”

“That’s cool, I guess. So why are you telling me all this?”

“Shiro’s my best friend. And I care about him. A lot. I want to see him happy, even if…” 

“Even if it doesn’t involve you?”

Keith nodded. “He doesn’t feel that way about me. And that’s fine. I don’t matter. This isn’t about me. But I know he feels like that about Pidge.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. Keith almost failed to notice the hand enveloping his own.

“Don’t talk like that. You do matter.” Lance gave Keith’s hand a squeeze. “And yeah, maybe Shiro doesn’t feel that way about you, but I’m sure someone else out there does.”

“Well, I don’t want to think about someone else right now.” Keith pulled himself out of Lance’s gentle grip. “Do you think that maybe you could try to tell Pidge that Shiro likes her?”

“I can.”

That response took Keith aback. He hadn’t expected any of this from Lance of all people. But he was desperate. “You’re serious?”

“Hey, I don’t mess around when it comes to love.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Keith said with a snort.

“I’m not. I’m serious.”  _ About you. _ Lance’s stomach was in knots. “And what I said? About someone else liking you? What if I were that someone else?”

Keith’s breath hitched. “Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe? I mean, yes?” Lance scowled. He threw his arms up in the air. “I don’t know, and maybe we should just pretend this conversation never happened.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Keith challenged. “Suppose I said yes, I’ll go out with you, then what? Where would you go?”

“To the beach. Swim. Have a couple beers. Watch the sunset over the water.”

“Sounds great. Text me a day and time. I’ll supply the booze.” With that, Keith was gone.

A grinning Hunk took Keith’s place. “Yes! I knew it, I knew it!” He pulled Lance into a giant bear hug. 

“Hunk… can’t… breathe…”

Hunk’s smile fell. “Oh, sorry. It’s just that I am  _ so  _ excited for you guys, I mean, it’s about time, and it’s obvious you had a thing for him… and are you sure you’re the one who should persuade Pidge to go out with Shiro?”

As much as Lance wanted to be angry with Hunk for eavesdropping, he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way. Hunk was more than okay with the situation, and that brought more relief to Lance than anger. “Relax, man, I know what I’m doing. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

* * *

“Hunk, Pidge, wait up!”

Pidge jarred to a halt. “Hurry it up, Lance. We haven’t got all day.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lance bent over, resting his hands on his knees. “We have an hour until class.”

“Um, yeah, that’s like an hour left to study for other classes. Right, Pidge?”

“Right!” She and Hunk high-fived and broke out into giggles.

Though their display of friendship warmed Lance’s heart, he had important information to share. “Uh, mind if I join?”

Pidge and Hunk exchanged puzzled looks. “Since when do you study?” Hunk asked. “I’ve never seen you open a textbook in our dorm.”

With dramatic flair, Lance swung his arm over his forehead and sighed. “Ay, there’s the rub.”

“Okay, Hamlet,” Pidge said. “What’s the rub?”

“As Hunk said, I don’t study in the dorm.”

Hunk frowned. “No, you don’t study, period.”

“I don’t study from textbooks or in our dorm. I memorize lines in a secret spot near the commons.”

“Is it outside?” Pidge asked, worry evident in her voice. “I shouldn’t study outside without sunscreen. I burn like a Californian forest in dry season. You know how one spark and a strong wind is enough to make the place blaze for months on end? I’m the same when it comes to being exposed to sunlight for too long.”

Lance clicked his tongue, pitying the poor girl. “You really chose the wrong place to go to school. I mean, Florida  _ is _ the Sunshine State.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” she grumbled. It wasn’t like she had that thought at least once a day or anything. Not at all, nope.

“It’s okay, Pidge,” Hunk said. He started to take off his backpack. “I always carry some around. I might not burn much, but I know a lot of people who do.” After a bit of rummaging around he tossed Pidge a plastic container of SPF 15 sunscreen.

“So what do you guys think?”

“I think I need at least SPF 30,” Pidge said dryly. “But I’m in.”

Hunk heaved a sigh. “If Pidge is going, I’m going, too. Someone’s got to keep the two of you out of trouble.”

“Yes!” Lance pumped his fist into the air. “Okay, losers, follow me.” He marched ahead, practically skipping with each step.

Pidge dropped her voice to a whisper. “Hunk, is it just me, or is Lance happier than usual?”

“I mean, he just got himself a date with Keith, so…”

“What?!” Pidge clapped her hands over her mouth. It was too late to hide her exclamation. Still, Lance had a date? After that party and dealing with a far less than sober Lance chatting about Keith, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. But it didn’t make sense, Lance and Keith. Or at least Lance getting a date.

“Everything okay back there?” Lance hollered. “Do I need to slow down for you two slowpokes?”

“We’re fine,” Hunk shouted back. “Keep on going.”

“Don’t need to. We’re here.” Lance’s secret spot wasn’t really all that secret. It just happened to be a well-shaded area—much to Pidge’s relief—on the grassy knolls of the commons. He patted the ground. “Come on, there’s plenty of room for the three of us. Don’t be shy.”

Hunk, well, hunkered down, and Pidge followed his lead while applying sunscreen. “Did I miss any spots?”

Concentration furrowed Hunk’s thick brows. “Nah, I think you’re good.”

“So tell me, Pidge, how’s your project with Shiro going?”

Her answer was immediate. There was no pause or beat of hesitation. “Fine.”

“That’s great, Pidge!” Hunk said. “Allura and I have got this thing nailed. With our VR game, the motion sickness is practically nonexistent. It’s great, but still needs some improvements.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Hunk.”

Hunk pouted, then stuck his nose back into his notes.

“So,” Lance continued. “Just fine? Not great? Because that ‘fine’ did not sound fine.”

“I mean, I guess it could be better or something. I just feel like Shiro’s been avoiding me since…”

“Since the party?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I did something wrong, and frankly, it sort of stings.” Averting her gaze, Pidge rubbed her arm. Probably an allergic reaction to the grass or the start of a nasty sunburn. It wasn’t because Shiro giving her the boot had hurt in any way. Definitely not that.

“Shiro likes you.”

What? Pidge snapped up and glared at Lance. “Let me get this straight. You are telling me that the guy who kicked me out of his dorm likes me.”

Lance nodded vigorously.

“Okay.” She folded her arms over her chest. “So, how do you know this?”

“Keith told me.”

Pidge pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “And I am supposed to believe your source, who probably told you this when he was shitfaced? Listen, I get it, you’re dating, you’re head over heels or something, but doesn’t that make him, I don’t know, biased? And why would he tell you this at all? He’s probably just messing with you, playing head games with you or something.

“Look, I know that things with me and Keith are weird and complicated, but I’m serious, Shiro is into you.”

“I am not falling for that one.”

Lance elbowed Hunk. “Hey, can’t you at least back me up here?”

“What?” Hunk looked around like he was lost. “Sorry, I’ve been studying this whole time and kinda zoned out. What do you need me to back you up on? Hold up, this is probably a prank or something.”

Pidge cackled. “See?” She gestured to Hunk. “He thinks you’re pranking me, too!”

“That’s not what I said,” Hunk started, then stopped when Lance shushed him.

“Shhhh, shut up, shut up!” Lance ducked down on the grass and pointed. “Shiro is right over there.” Sure enough, Shiro was several feet away, sketching something. Whatever he was working on seemed to be a source of frustration, judging by the scowl on his face.

* * *

Sendak’s lips curled into a cruel smile. He hadn’t expected to see Shiro sketching on the commons, but as luck would have it, there he was. Paying no attention to the world around him, save for whatever it was he was drawing.

He slithered up to Shiro and tapped him on the shoulder.

Shiro whirled around. “Oh, Sendak. Long time no see.”

“Enough with the friendly chit-chat, Shiro. I wanna talk. What is it you’re hiding?”

“Hiding?”

Sendak’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, hiding. You’re always wearing long sleeves in Florida.”

“It is almost winter,” Shiro said with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, that explains why you wore this same jacket at Kolivan’s party in late summer. So what is it that you’re hiding up your sleeve, hm?” Sendak grabbed Shiro by a loose roll of black fabric and held up him. He sneered in his victim’s face.

“Don’t,” Shiro pleaded. “Please, please don’t.”

* * *

Pidge’s hands clenched into fists. She seethed with rage at the sight before her. She’d seen this happen before.

The school bus. It always happened in the school bus that picked her and Matt up in the morning. It reeked of grease and cheap leather. Children booed and hisses as Matt ascended the stairs. For some reason, he always told Pidge to stay behind him. “I’ll protect you,” he’d say.

In retrospect, her brother just put on a brave front. Kids laughed at the faggot who’d trip over his own feet. Pidge would help pick her brother up and tell the kid who’d stuck his leg out to shut up.

Eventually, she’d refused to let Matt enter the bus first. “You’ve helped me, so now it’s my turn to help you.”

She’d acted as his shield and sword. While she couldn’t fight her brothers’ stronger bullies head on, Pidge had other means of dealing with them. She’d stick love notes in their lockers, only for a bully to have his heart broken. Or she’d start an unflattering rumor, leaving one bully without friends. And there’d been the one time she found information that got the best football player kicked off the team. Her personal favorite was the time she changed all of the school’s computer desktops to bullies’ embarrassing photos. It had been worth three days of detention.

She couldn’t stand by and watch this bully pick on Shiro.

“Hunk, watch my things.” She got up and dusted herself off.

“Um, Pidge, maybe we should stay out of this,” Hunk said. “Besides, Sendak is huge! He could eat you for dinner.”

Pidge cracked her knuckles. “I’ve dealt with pricks like him before.” She glared at Hunk, who looked like he was about to voice another protest. “I’ll be fine.”

“We’ve got your stuff, Pidge,” Lance said. “Go show Sendak who’s boss.”

* * *

“Sendak, please, don’t do this.” Shiro blinked back tears. “I don’t want to fight.”

“You heard the guy,” Pidge said. “Why don’t you fight someone your own size?”

Sendak threw Shiro on the ground with a sickening thud. “Hate to break it to you, pipsqueak, but you’re nowhere near my size.”

“Oh, I misspoke. Why don’t you fight someone who’s closer to size of your dick? Last I checked, I’m the smallest person here. Smallest person versus the guy with the smallest dick on campus. I think that’s a fair fight.”

Her insult took Sendak aback. His mouth fumbled for words, but only squeaks and grunts came out.

“Oh, I guess your brain is even tinier than your dick. Poor guy can’t even think of a comeback. Oh, Sendak, you poor widdle thing.”

“Sh-shut up!”

Feigned pity surfaced on Pidge’s face. “Oh, he’s trying to silence me. If that wasn’t so pathetic, it might be kinda cute.”

Sendak’s confidence deflated like a balloon. “I… Fine, I didn’t even want to fight with Shiro anyways.” Defeated, he skulked off, metaphorical tail between legs.

Shiro stared blankly at Pidge from the ground. Did she do that for him? Because she knew about his arm and didn’t want Sendak to reveal it? “Pidge, I…”

She was gone.

* * *

“You alright, Pidge? You’re shaking. You’re not scared that Sendak’s going to try to get back at you, are you? I mean, I’d be kind of afraid of that.”

Pidge shook her head. “I’m still so damn angry with Sendak.”

“She’s like my sister’s chihuahua. It shakes with rage.”

Ignoring Lance’s comment, Pidge continued. “It’s just weird. Growing up, my brother got picked on a lot, so I stood up for him. But I don’t remember being this angry or upset.” The biggest, widest smile Pidge had ever seen on Lance’s narrow face unnerved her. “What the fuck, Lance?”

“You like him,” he sang.

For the first time that day, Pidge couldn’t bring herself to argue with Lance. Not that she’d ever admit it to him, but he was right.

She liked Shiro.

* * *

**Matt:** How’s the game I got you going?

**Pidge:** Thanks I hate it

**Matt:** It’s that bad, huh?

**Pidge:** No, it’s stupid and impossible and makes no sense. I don’t get what you like about it.

**Matt:** Whose heart are you trying to win?

**Pidge:** He’s not one of the available routes.

**Matt:** What?

Oh, shit.  _ Abort, abort, abort.  _ Pidge rattled off a quick text.

**Pidge:** Oh, sorry, you were talking about  _ Dream Daddy.  _ Craig. You’d think a guy who is famous for keg-stands would be stupid or something, but no, he’s /stupidly/ hard to get him to like you.

**Matt:** I knew you’d go for Craig first. 

Pidge gave a sigh of relief. Matt bought her excuse. Her phone buzzed.  _ Or maybe no. _

**Matt:** If you had a type, it’d be Craig. You always like the tall, pretty guys in _otome_ games.

Types, huh? With each passing class with Iverson, Pidge became less and less certain people had types or were types. Hunk loved food, but he was also brilliant when it came to virtual reality. She certainly didn’t have the stomach he did. Almost every class ended up Allura helping him to the nearest trash can to puke in.

In a way, Pidge admired the guy for pushing his boundaries the way he did.

Lance was still a flirt who liked to get under Keith’s skin, but after that party, their bickering lessened. Only a little bit.

Keith was a quiet, smart guy, that was for sure. He did brood in corners and listen to MCR, but she still couldn’t believe Keith partied as hard as he did. Or at all. During the night she’d stayed with Shiro weeks ago, he had mentioned that Keith was on a full ride scholarship. “Even though he is a smart guy, he does some really stupid things,” Shiro had told her. “Intelligence can’t be measured in just one way.”

Likewise, it seemed the way she’d interacted with people in the past, using _otome_ games as a way to navigate the chaotic world around her, wasn’t a one-size-fits-all method to read into things. She couldn’t fit people into a box.

Shiro in particular. There was so much to him she couldn’t begin to explain. He was smart. Brilliant, even. Passionate. Caring. Protective. Handsome. But he had baggage, more than anyone she’d ever known.

Maybe it was time to stop trying that approach. But what, then, should she do?

**Pidge:** We’ll talk later, Matt. Class is starting.

* * *

Shiro was  _ this _ close to snapping his pencil in half. The only thing stopping him was that he’d paid $15 for it.

No matter what he did, he couldn’t draw anything right. Nothing turned out the way he wanted it to. He didn’t want to lose his family, his good arm, and Pidge.

Pidge.

He couldn’t draw anything right. Except for her. Her eyes, unlike any he’d seen before, made his heart race. Her crooked smile and dimples hypnotized him. He kept thinking about their conversations at the party, at his dorm. And he couldn’t stop.

He used to get rid of bothersome thoughts through his drawings. Doubts, fears, anger. These feelings transferred from him onto the paper.

But this was the first time he only thought about the subject more and more as he drew her. Trust, courage, happiness. Pidge. Pidge. Pidge.

Fuck. Keith was right.

* * *

After three years of experience from Iverson’s classes, Shiro knew they were always the same. Iverson started off all of his classes with attendance. Then he’d stand front and center at his podium and rattle off announcements and reminders if there were any.

If it was a lecture, he’d stand at the podium and run through his PowerPoint presentation and start with a gruff reminder to “Hold all questions until I have finished the presentation.”

If it was an instructive class where he taught students the basics of video game design, he’d stand at the podium and go step by step showing students what to do via screenshare. He’d let students work on their own and circle the room. Anyone who was on Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr would be counted as absent. (As it was written in Iverson’s syllabus for all his classes, three absences meant failure.)

Then, there was this class, the one Iverson had told Shiro was his favorite, he’d let the students do whatever they wanted after he’d made announcements and reminders. Iverson turned a blind eye when Lance took selfies and sent them to family on Snapchat and checked his Instagram follower count. “Promoting our final project,” Lance had said. Iverson also allowed students to go off to other locations on campus.

Even then, today’s class felt different. He and Pidge decided to go to one of Alfor Hall’s vacant computer labs instead of working in room 098.

Shiro pulled up a seat next to Pidge. “How’s it going?”

“Well, I’ve done most of the coding,” she said. Pidge stared at her computer’s screen—better than Shiro, she figured—and continued to talk. “I’ve written two storylines—a good ending and a bad ending—for all five characters, so that’s ten in all.”

“I meant how is everything going with you.”

She tore her gaze away from the screen. “Fine. Been busy working on this.” A beat. “And you?”

“I’ve been better,” he said. That admission felt like a load off his shoulders. “More importantly, I want to apologize. I’m sorry I was a jerk to you that morning. If you’d let me, I want to thank you for what you did with Sendak.” He took a deep breath, then slid his sketchbook toward her. “I’ve been working on character designs for your game, so here they are.” He opened it to a page bookmarked by a sticky note.

Pidge eyed him warily, then glossed over the designs. “These are nice,” she said, nodding her approval.

“This one’s my favorite.” Shiro tapped a metal finger over the elf Keith had said looked like Pidge. “What do you think?”

She squinted like she was trying to see something from miles away. “Is that supposed to be me?”

Shiro almost missed her saying “me,” as Pidge spoke the word so quietly, as if it were something to be said in a sacred place. “Well, uh, I may have been slightly inspired—“ The sound of Pidge leafing through his sketchbook interrupted him.

His sketches were beautiful. But there was one that stood out to her. That of a beautiful maiden sleeping. “Who is she?” Pidge murmured. Did Shiro already have a girlfriend? If he did, how would she even stand a chance against someone as beautiful as this person he drew.

“You don’t recognize her?” Shiro asked.

Pidge shook her head.

Shiro drew in a breath. “Okay, please don’t freak out on me. I should’ve asked for permission, but I drew you when you crashed on the futon. I promise I’m not a stalker or a creeper or anything like that. I wasn’t thinking, and I just had the itch to draw. I’m sorry I didn’t ask, but I promise you I will ask from here on out.”

_ Me. That beautiful girl is me. _ Pidge wanted to ask so many questions: “Do you see me like this?” “Why didn’t you ask me?”

Her silence unnerved Shiro. He’d already fucked things up, and the quietness wasn’t doing him much good at all.

“It’s really good,” she finally said.

“You’re not mad?”

Pidge shrugged. “I was a little creeped out when you told me it’s me, but you apologized and said you’d ask for permission. I didn’t really even have an opportunity to be mad. In fact, I think I was more anxious than anything else.”

“Anxious?”

_ Shit. _ She was  _ not _ going to tell him that she worried that he’d had a girlfriend. “Um, anxious isn’t the right word. Jealous. I was jealous because I can’t get over how well you draw.”

Shiro cracked a smile. “I used to be better before…”

“Before the prosthetic?” Pidge offered.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think it’s really cool,” Pidge said. “My mom does a lot of work with prosthetics, so I’ve seen some of what she works with. I’ve never seen anything half as amazing as yours.”

Shiro chuckled nervously. “Yeah, um, it’s state-of-the-art. Pretty new. I needed something that would let me hold a pencil and still be able to capture details.”

“Well, it looks like you’re doing pretty well with it, all things considered.” Pidge cleared her throat. “So, back to the project…”

* * *

For the most part, the rest of the semester went without a hitch. With one exception: Pidge didn’t know how she could tell Shiro how she felt about him. In _otome_ games, it was easy. All she had to do was select an option that said something like, “I love you” or “I feel the same way.” The dialogue was programmed from there. She didn’t have to do any of the talking.

But this wasn’t an _otome_ game.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t be thinking about him!” Pidge growled.

As usual, Rover said nothing, for he was a computer.

What a bunch of bullshit. The internet was supposed to have all the answers. Lifehacks, Amazon Prime, Google, or what-have-you was supposed to make your life easier. But no, this was making Pidge’s life harder. If only she could find the answer.

The answer.

_ That’s it!  _ Pidge opened up her project’s code. With a few tweaks in the code, she would have no problem telling Shiro how she felt. After running some tests to make sure she didn’t completely destroy everything she’d worked for, she felt settled. Between Shiro’s animation and her coding, she was certain she nailed the class.

As much as she dreaded presenting her final project, she knew, at the very least, it was something she’d be more than proud of. She’d put her heart into it.

And hopefully Shiro would see that.

* * *

This was it. Today was the day she would present her final project. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead and made her hair stick to the nape of her neck. She’d always been sweaty, and no amount of antiperspirant helped her with that. Her nerves certainly didn’t, either. And of course, it was fucking Florida.

Deep breath in, then out. Deep breath in, then out. Breathe.

“Whenever you are ready, Cadet Holt.”

Pidge sucked in one more breath. “I’m ready, sir.” She looked to Shiro, who’d taken a seat next to Iverson. He’d told her that as much as he wanted to present alongside her, he was still Iverson’s TA. That meant he’d have to sit out on this one, as he wasn’t the one receiving a grade on her project.

Shiro smiled and gave her a thumbs up. The gesture made Pidge slightly weak at the knees, but she’d have to carry on, wobbling or not.

“So, for my project, I made an _otome_ game. Some of you might be more familiar with the term ‘dating sim.’” She scouted the room, seeking out familiar faces. Allura beamed at her, so proud of her tiny resident. Hunk nodded and appeared to be taking notes. Lance elbowed Keith, who tilted his head in Pidge’s direction, reminding Lance to pay attention to Pidge and not to him. “If not, I would like a volunteer to show everyone how these games work.” She made eye contact with Shiro. “You, sir,” she said.

Shiro looked to Iverson for permission. Iverson grumbled something Pidge couldn’t hear, but it seemed as though Iverson had told him to go ahead.

“Perfect. Now, I won’t have you run through an entire playthrough, but I do want you to select a character and respond to what this character says and does a few times. Just use your mouse to point and click. Or arrow keys and spacebar.”

Shiro opted for the mouse to select one of the five characters he designed. He went through them all, but in the end, settled on Pidge’s virtual twin.

“I should add that this is not a spoiler-free zone,” Pidge said. “Since it would take hours for one playthrough, I wanted to show everyone a sample of the game and how it works. What you’re about to see is this character’s final date.”

The projector connected to the computer flickered an enlarged version of what was on that computer’s screen on the wall.

Her classmates oohed and aahed at the artwork. It was very much Shiro’s own style, but it was a little different than what he usually worked with. He’d incorporated inspiration from Japanese anime and RPGs. The characters had bright costumes and oversized eyes and spiky, out-of-this-world hair—and loosely resembled a few classmates.

“I can’t take credit for the artwork,” Pidge added. “That and the animation is on Shiro.”

As if on cue, the elf Shiro had selected smiled. Then, a dialogue box popped up:

“Thank you for meeting me out here. I appreciate it, especially because I haven’t always been the easiest to work with. But I can’t thank you enough. You saved me that one time, when that monster attacked me. And then we started talking more and more. I don’t know when, but there came a point when I realized I like you. A lot. I might even love you. I’m not good with feelings or people, but I am good with you, I think. Is it possible you might feel the same way?”

-Yes.

-No.

Shiro heard murmurs from the back of the room: “That elf kind of looks like Pidge.”

“I’m sure it’s a coincidence, right?”

“I don’t know, I’ve seen those two spend a lot of time together outside of class.”

This was not good. If Iverson thought he romanced Pidge, there could be some issues. As much as Shiro wanted to say yes, he couldn’t do it.

He clicked on “No.”

“I’m sorry, of course you couldn’t return my feelings. After all, you’re a human, and I’m an elf. What was I thinking?”

* * *

_ What was I thinking? _ Pidge had made a fool out of herself and of Shiro during that presentation. It no longer mattered that she had gotten a standing ovation for her game. It didn’t even matter if she’d passed the class.

What mattered was that Shiro didn’t like her, and she’d humiliated him and herself in front of her friends and professors.

She found herself wandering in the room where she’d first met Shiro. Maybe it would’ve been better if she’d just stayed in that cupboard and never came out of it. Or if she’d been hiding away in it another day. She never would’ve met Shiro that way, and it would’ve been better for everyone.

Pidge was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn’t hear the door swish open, or who entered the room.

“Hey, you did a great job back there.”

She whirled her head around. Shiro! What was he doing here? Pidge masked her surprise with a dull expression. “Oh, thanks.” She cast her gaze down at the ground. She couldn’t look at him, she just couldn’t.

“Listen, I was just wondering if maybe you’d want to get a bite to eat.”

Pidge gave a half-shrug. “Pass. I’m not hungry.”

“What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?  _ What’s wrong? _ “Why are you still talking to me? I mean, I completely humiliated you during that presentation! I don’t understand.”

“It’s…” Shiro stepped closer to Pidge. “It’s because I like you.”

A rosy blush colored Pidge’s cheeks. “Then why did you select No?”

“Because I might’ve gotten the two of us in trouble with Iverson. Teaching assistants probably shouldn’t date the students they’re supposed to be assisting. Iverson might have thought I did all the work due to favoritism or something.”

Pidge’s heart sank. “That means we can’t…”

“Last I checked, you finished that class. I am no longer your TA.” Shiro offered her his hand. His sleek, robotic prosthetic hand. “And I am asking you, Pidge, if you’d like to go on a date.”

“I’d like that,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “I’d like that a lot.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Pidge beamed up at Shiro. “Dinner and a movie?”

“Dinner and a movie it is.”


End file.
